


Apples at the Market

by beefybuffybucky



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes Returns, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 09:45:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14041515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beefybuffybucky/pseuds/beefybuffybucky
Summary: Bucky comes back and realizes he will never be able to see you again since he married you in the 40s. He tries to make a recipe he remembers you cooking him, but can’t make it like you did. In the end, the two of you meet again, since you went through a similar process as he did in preserving his youth. (Warnings: Angst, Language, Fluff)





	Apples at the Market

**Author's Note:**

> This work is based off a prompt from my Tumblr blog (@beefybuffybucky). Feel free to check it out!

_Bucky’s P.O.V_

We were married in the autumn, Y/N and I. It was an outdoor wedding, in the middle of a lush, mystical forest up-state. The leaves were deep reds, sweet oranges, and brilliant yellows, and each gust of wind that would dance through the trees’ branches created an intoxicating melody of calmness, the leaves flutter down around us, landing gracefully on the ground. It was a small wedding, just us, Steve, a priest, and a few of our neighbors. I never really cared that there weren’t a lot of people - all I could focus on was her mesmerizing smile, her bright, joyful eyes, and the radiating glow of happiness she emitted around her. Her long, white dress floated elegantly over the fallen leaves. Her hair was done-up in a high bun, pinned curls framing her face. She was the most beautiful woman I have  _ever_  seen in my life - she was the woman of my dreams.

Even after we got married, every day after was like living the same perfect dream over and over again. On Saturdays, we would wake up a little earlier and go to a small farmer’s market near our apartment building. Her favorite fruit was apples, and we would leave the market with a whole bag of ‘em, and in the autumn, we would bring home a pumpkin, too. She would make this absolutely  _killer_  apple crumble from the apples we had bought earlier in the day, and for dinner, we would make a pumpkin soup together in between little breaks of dancing and stealing light kisses. Saturdays were always my favorite - just being around her was enough to make my heart flutter with joy - but now, each passing day just reminds me of how I lost, and never even got to say goodbye to the love of my life. Even after HYDRA did everything in their power to make me forget - to make me into their  _weapon_  - I was always able to hang on to one memory:  _her_.

The oven’s timer beeping brings me out of my trance. I get up from my stool, pushing it back under the counter of the kitchen island, and grab an oven mitt. When I pull down the oven door, a wall of heat hits my face, lightly burning my eyes and making it a bit hard to breathe. The smell of cinnamon and apples drifting from the oven is intoxicating as it swirls and mixes with the silent air hanging heavily on my shoulders. I set the hot pan on a hot-pad next to the stove, taking off the mitt to stir the simmering, pumpkin-orange soup. Outside, a light snow begins to fall, the delicate flakes landing on the window above the sink, quickly melting away and trailing down the glass pane.  _The first snowfall of the year…_

Y/N loved the first snowfall. The last time I saw her during the first fall, we were out for a stroll, just popping our heads into small shops in the city, enjoying the clear, chilly night, when the flakes began to drop.

_We were both tucked into our winter coats, her arm locked through mine, the bustle of the crowd swarming around us. Stopping at a corner to cross a street, a few delicate snowflakes begin to twirl out of the sky and drift to our feet. A smile blossoms on her face. It’s one of those ear-to-ear, goofy smiles that are contagious. I turn to her, watching as her eyes cast to the sky in awe. A few flakes settle on her hair, and one lands on her cheek. I bring my gloved hand to her face, using my thumb to brush it away. She leans into my touch, closing her eyes and humming. I lean down and press a light kiss to her soft lips, savoring the taste of her as I try to capture this moment in my mind. I slowly pull away and open my eyes, locking my gaze with hers. Y/N giggles and I gently rest my forehead against hers._

_“I love you,” I whisper, my breath puffing into the air._

_“I love you too, James,” she smiles as she stands on her toes, pressing her lips to mine again._

A quiet tear sliding down my face painfully drags me back to reality. I brace my hands against the smooth counter top and take in a shaky breath. Opening the drawer near my stomach, I grab a fork and cut into the crumble, the hot steam from the apples slowly drifting away like flames licking at logs in a fire. I bring the fork to my mouth, the hot crumble slightly burning my tongue.

I’ve made this recipe at least a hundred times, trying to find just the right amount of ingredients that would make the crumble taste like Y/N’s. But nothing ever worked. There was always something missing  _every, single, time_. I just want some way to have her back in my life…to have some sort of…of a  _connection_  back to her even though she’s long gone.

In a wild burst of frustration and anger, I forcefully throw the whole pan of the crumble into the sink, sending loud clanging noises and its contents flying everywhere. Apple chunks and crumbs scatter over the countertops as the pan ricochets out of the sink and clatters on the floor, and a dull burning sensation radiates from my fingertips.

It’s burden to breathe. More tears well up in my eyes, blurring my vision. I lean back against the counter, the stone pushing into my lower back, and I cross my arms over my chest. A sob threatens to shake through my body, and my lip quivers as I try to suppress it, but it erupts in my throat any ways and a strangled choke escapes from my throat. My legs suddenly feel weak and I drop to the ground, pulling my legs to my chest and wrapping my arms around my head. The air around me feels like it’s suffocating me. Anxiety and burning hatred tingle through my veins, threatening to override my senses. Hot tears bleed into the sleeves of my shirt, but I don’t care. Thoughts crash into my mind, shrouding out reality - the shitty, stupid reality that she’ll never come back into my life.

* * *

_Y/N’s P.O.V_

You’ve been trying to adjust to life for the past year. After being a HYDRA captive for nearly seventy years, you managed to escape, create an alias, and settle down in an apartment using the money you had taken from the organization. Most of the time, they kept you frozen like the other soldiers they began to experiment with, only thawing you out whenever they needed a sort of last resort.

After James had left for the war, you relied a lot on Steve for support, until he, too, eventually left. A few months later, you were out at the market buying more apples to make a crumble for a family dinner when you were forcefully dragged into an alleyway, knocked out, and taken. You never even saw your attackers coming. When you woke up, you were in a cell, scared  _shitless_ , and aching pains raged in every joint, muscle, and bone of your body.

You endured a solid six months of training and mind manipulation as HYDRA molded your mind and body into their perfect rendition of a weapon of mass destruction.

But that was all behind you now.

Even though the manipulation mutilated your mind and controlled your memories, you were never able to let go of James. The fact that you never knew what happened to him eats away at you each and  _every_  day, but, somehow, you’re able to drag yourself out of bed and carry on living.

You’ve never bothered to reach out to Steve - the very thought of it made your stomach churn in fear of the type of memories that talking to him face-to-face may bring up. Every time you see his picture on T.V., or in a magazine, or even on a billboard, old, faint memories of James and him would surface. The three of you were inseparable, and the pain of not having James in your life was hard enough, let alone being in the same room as Stevie and not hearing James cracking jokes or watching him playfully make fun of Steve. You’d give anything to be able to go back in time and stop them from leaving, just to see James  _one last time…_

The train slowing to a stop slightly jerks your body forward, and your shoulder bumps into the person standing next to you. The doors slide open, and people rush out like a wave crashing on a shoreline. Saturdays guaranteed a packed commuted into downtown. You follow the flow of bodies and walk towards the stairs heading to the streets above.

Overcast clouds make the wind blowing between the buildings colder than it should be. Winter was pressing in, and any day now, snow would begin to fall. You’ve always loved the first snow ever since you were a kid. The snowflakes would lure you into a trance, captivating you for hours. The first snow also reminded you of James. His touch was as light as a fresh snowflake, yet powerful enough to reassure you he would never leave you, like the biting cold of the winter. But, like snow in the spring, that promise melted away as soon as he left to serve.

Something runs into your legs, shaking you from your thoughts. You look down, blinking, and see a bubbly toddler staring up at you with an open mouth. Their dad runs up and quickly apologizes, scooping the toddler into his arms.

“Oh, no worries,” you smile. The man walks back over to where another man with an empty stroller was standing and passes the child into his arms. He bounces the baby playfully and boops his nose. The sight ignites a flick of joy in your heart.

A buzzing of people swarms around the market’s carts. Just down the way, you spot the cart with the best apples you’ve ever tasted, and you happily stride towards it. An old man with bright, white, wispy hair and a red apron sits on a stool behind the cart, reading a newspaper. He looks up at you above the paper and greets you with a large smile.

“Mornin’, love,” his thick accent is charming and playful. “How many can I getchya?” He reaches for a paper bag under the cart.

“G’mornin’, Ed,” you smile back. “Can you get me four today? I have a lot of baking to do.”

The old man picks out four, juicy, brilliantly red apples and puts them in the bag, rolling down the top to close it.

“Here ya are, darlin’,” he smiles as he hands you the bag over the cart. “See ya next Saturday?”

“Like always,” you chuckle as you hand him the money you owed. “Bye, Ed!” You wave as you start to turn around, but run into something hard. You drop the bag, an apple rolling out onto the ground. “O-oh man, I’m so sorry.” You quickly crouch down to pick up the bag and the loose apple when the stranger moves to grab the apple at the same time. Their gloved hand brushes passed yours, grabbing the fruit and handing it out to you. You look up, and your heart nearly jumps out of your chest.

_It…it’s James._

He has longer hair tucked into a ball cap and wore a heavy jacket over a black shirt. A beard covers his jaw and fades into his neck, his grey-blue eyes frozen in disbelief.

You can’t find the breath to speak as you stare at him, truly believing that this man, this stranger, could possibly be -

“ _Y/N?_ ” He mumbles. You both stand at the same time.  _It…it c-can’t be…_

“J-James?” You blink away tears pricking at your tired eyes. His eyes widen and tears begin to well along the bottom of his own eyes. You step closer to him. “Is it…it-it  _can’t_  be, there’s no way,” you swallow as a single tear races down your cheek.

He brings a large, gloved hand to your cheek and wipes away the warm tear. You instinctively lean into his comforting touch, giving into the wild fantasy that this man standing before you  _truly_  is James.

“It’s really you,” he breathes. His lower lip quivers and he bites down on it. “Am I…are you  _real_?”

“Y-yes James, I am,” you smile through more tears gently cascading down your face.

“What are you doing here?” He asks. “ _How_  are you here?”

“I’m sure I could be asking you the same exact thing,” you chuckle in disbelief. “I, uh…I come here every Saturday to buy a-apples for baking. Ed’s my favorite guy to get ‘em from. I use them in my -”

“Crumble,” he finishes my sentence. “You don’t know how long I’ve been trying to remake that recipe,” he chuckles through a few silent tears.

“Why don’t you come back to my apartment,” you ask. “I can show you how to make it, and I have all the things to make pumpkin soup, so we could -”

He cuts you off again by pulling you into his arms. You immediately wrap your arms around him as he tucks his head into the crook of your neck.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” he whispers, his voice muffled by your scarf. “I promise…I’ll  _never_  leave you like that again.” He painfully pulls back from your embrace. “I just still can’t believe it’s you.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” you laugh. He extends the apple in his hand to you, and you grab it, dropping it back into the bag. You turn back to the cart a few feet away, squeezing between two other people. “Hey, Ed,” you breathe. “I’m gonna need a few more apples.”


End file.
